


Snowfall, A Vignette

by NiscuitGravy



Category: Bleach
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Snow, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 01:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20322508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiscuitGravy/pseuds/NiscuitGravy
Summary: Ishida doesn't like the cold.





	Snowfall, A Vignette

**Author's Note:**

> Hmmm, it's 80 degrees out. Let's run inside and write about snow.   
(Credits to harmony for proof reading my draft)

Ishida doesn’t like the cold.   
  
It batters his bones in shivers, the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. It burns his chapped, dry skin and crowns his cheeks with a rosy flush. His heart stalls, and he can almost  _ feel _ his blood solidify into ice throughout his veins, as if his own body’s furnace were broken and he’s left to succumb to the surrounding temperatures.   
  
But Ishida  _ does _ like the wintertime.   
  
The winter brings snow. Albeit cold, the snow brings peace. The frozen world is a natural wonder that pauses each heartbeat in its tracks, fast or slow. All commotion stills, even if for a mere moment, to survey its radiant calm.   
  
“It’s quiet out,” the voice beside him states, almost rhetorically, as the noise fills what feels like the entire night sky. “I can almost hear the snowflakes hitting the ground.”   
  
Ishida returns a chuckle in his direction; he tightens his fingers around the ones entrapping his own.    
  
“It  _ was _ , ‘til you started talking.”   
  
“Oh,  _ hush _ . You’re talking, too, you know.”   
  
“Maybe I  _ like _ talking to you.”   
  
“Well, maybe I like talking to you, too.”   
  
Ishida smiles as he peers down at the footprints behind them. Two pairs of shuffling feet make their way down what he remembers to be sidewalks that wind through the upscale Karakura estate he'd been raised in. Only such a place would accommodate a night like tonight. Ichigo had suggested the two of them route through his own neighborhood, seeing that Ishida’s worn-down apartment in the city’s slum was certainly no place to experience a night like this. But Ishida had quickly refused - his father’s ritzy residence was the only venue that hollows wouldn’t reach to disturb them.    
  
Both of them know this is untrue.    
  
Both of them know that it’s merely more  _ beautiful _ than either of their own neighborhoods.   
  
Gloved hand in gloved hand, the two boys step through the night. Not a single soul disrupts the quiet. The trepidation, or perhaps the chill, trembles through their grasp, reminding them both with every heartbeat that  _ whatever  _ they are, they are still  _ whatever _ .

  
Ishida sighs for a moment, wishing it were within his power completely to tie such a loose end.   
  
Ichigo doesn’t seem to mind it as much. Ishida isn’t even sure the thought ever crosses Ichigo's mind.   
  
They keep on walking.   
  
The barren trees surround them, and they’re nothing like the haunted, spindly wires that grow from the bleakness of Hueco Mundo. They’re unmoving, and while their emerald elegance has simply gone on holiday, it’s still  _ there _ , pulsing through their branches and up through their roots. Life is still  _ there _ . It only pauses in reverent awe of the white, crystal world.   
  
It’s rather nice to cherish such a moment. For here in the tranquil silence, no Quincy nor Soul Reaper exists - only two bodies traipsing through the ice. No heilig bogen nor zanpakuto is firm in their fingers, only the tender hands of one another. No one else exists, and if they do, they fall insignificant to the tranquil beauty of this night.   
  
Ichigo stops dead in his tracks under a golden street lamp. He stares straight up, gestures for Ishida to do the same.   
  
His brown eyes glisten as if he were staring into heaven itself.   
  
“Hey, it stopped snowing.”   
  
Ishida follows his gaze. He notes that he no longer feels the need to wipe the droplets off of his spectacles for perhaps the trillionth time this past hour, or however long it’d been since they’d begun their stroll. He stares into the dark, clouded expanse, and his mind runs just as blank.   
  
“Seems it has.”   
  
A hand cups his cheek after a moment or two, and instinctively, he leans into it.   
  
“Hey.”   
  
He looks down in time to flutter his dark lashes shut, to stare at nothing as heat encircles his waist.    
  
It makes his the marrow of his bones strengthen and flourish; the hairs on the back of his neck are smoothed by the hand that runs down his body. It soothes his chapped, dry skin and crowns his cheeks with an even rosier flush. His heart races, and he can almost  _ feel _ his blood burn as it surges through his veins, as if that furnace in his body were ignited, and he’s left now to succumb to the man he desperately wants, who is pressing chilled lips to his own.   
  
Ichigo pulls away, leaving Ishida almost entirely breathless. A smug grin crosses his face, seeing the mess he’d made of the other.    
  
“Hey yourself,” is all Ishida can muster as he too grins, more than he can begin to contain. It crashes over his face like an avalanche as Ichigo pulls him into yet another kiss, both of them humming on impact.    
  
He’s not sure how long they stay like this, but it doesn’t matter. Time can wait.  _ Whatever _ they are can wait. The  _ world _ can wait.   
  
For the very man more beautiful than any snow is holding him in this timeless embrace.   
  
Ishida doesn’t mind the cold as much anymore.


End file.
